sour comment. "Worth nothing beyond the price of the frame. And I should put that"—S. Gedge pursed a mouth of professional knowledge—"at five shillings."
"Five shillings, sir, is what I paid for it."
"Not worth bringing home." S. Gedge shook a dour head. Somehow he resented his assistant making a private purchase, but that may have been because there was nothing in the purchase when made. "Why buy a thing like that?"
William took the picture gravely from his master and held it near the window.
"I have an idea, sir, there may be a subject underneath."
"Don't believe in ideas myself," snapped S. Gedge, taking a microscope from the counter. After a brief use of it he added, "There may be a bit o' badly painted still life, but what's the good o' that."
"I've a feeling, sir, there's something below it."
"Rubbish anyhow. It'll be a fortnight's job to get the top off and then like as not you'll have wasted your time. Why buy a pig in a poke when you might have invested your five shillings in a bit more china? However, it's no affair of mine."
"There's something there, sir, under those flowers, I feel sure," said the young man taking up the microscope and gazing earnestly at the picture. "But what it is I can't say."
"Nor can anyone else. However, as I say, it's your funeral. In our trade there's such a thing as being too speculative, and don't forget it, boy."
"I might find a thing worth having, sir," William ventured to say.
